“Jigang-hyung….”
Han Jigang’s gaze flickered at the sight of Ryu Somin, frozen in fear, tears streaming endlessly down his face. But even as Nabin convulsed in his unconscious state, trembling like he was in the throes of seizures, Jigang did not falter as he carried him out of the mansion.
“Hyung… hic… I’m scared… don’t go….”
His steps halted for just a moment at the pitiful voice calling after him. Somin’s breathing came in fragile gasps, as if it might break off at any second. Jigang shut his eyes tight.
It wasn’t that he felt nothing for Ryu Somin. But Somin still had Tae Yishin at his side. Right now, the only one who could protect Nabin was him.
What Tae Yishin had done was not mere physical harm—it was psychological violence, the kind that left deeper scars than any bruise.
Even though Jigang had stopped it before Tae Yishin’s ability could fully manifest, no one could predict the aftermath. And if the wounds were mental, there was no real treatment. Healing Potions were useless, and even if they summoned another mental-type Esper to implant a new command, it would only shatter Nabin’s mind further.
The only cure was to find a Healing Esper capable of mending both body and mind. But none such existed in Korea.
No—there had been one, but he no longer lived. The thought brought a face to Jigang’s mind. If that man were still alive, perhaps both he and Tae Yishin might have lived softer, gentler lives.
That man would have embraced Nabin from the very beginning. He was the type to weep for Nabin’s hardships and tear away his own flesh if it could soothe Nabin’s pain.
…Ryu Soh-an.
But he was gone, out of reach forever. Which meant Jigang had to do what he could now. If Nabin was left as he was, he might wake up hollow, like an empty shell.
Tae Yishin’s mana had already seeped into his weakened mind. Jigang couldn’t know what command had been planted, but he was certain of one thing—it wasn’t anything good.
For now, his only choice was to take Nabin to the Center and beg for help. Nothing could be done here. He settled Nabin in the passenger seat and fastened his seatbelt when—
“…Nabi.”
In a frail whisper, Nabin called for “Nabi.” Jigang’s gaze instinctively fell to his wrist. There, glowing faintly with violet light, was the butterfly pendant—its wings trembling as if fluttering in flight.
Nabin might not realize it himself, but whenever Guiding pushed him to the brink, he would clutch that Artifact tightly in his hand. He knew it was an Artifact, a mana-charged bracelet, but little more.
Whenever Guiding nearly broke him, the butterfly shone in the dark like something alive. And now, it was glowing brighter than ever.
The sharp crease between his brows began to ease with every pulse of light. His pained groans faded into steady breathing.
“No way…”
Jigang had always suspected the pendant was extraordinary, but now he was certain. This Artifact could heal the mind itself.
He pressed the butterfly into Nabin’s trembling hands and wrapped his own around them. Gratitude welled up toward the Artifact that was doing what he could not.
Violet light seeped through their joined fingers. Even unconscious, Nabin clutched the pendant with the desperate grip of a drowning man grasping a straw.
“…Thank god this exists.”
Slowly, color returned to Nabin’s pale face. With this Artifact, there was no need to go to the Center. Jigang turned the car toward his private villa instead.
As he drove, one hand remained locked around Nabin’s. The villa was an hour from the mansion, a place Jigang visited only when he wanted to be completely alone.
He had never told anyone about it, never brought anyone there—not even his closest companions. Tae Yishin and Gong Min suspected he had a separate retreat, but neither asked. They had secret places of their own.
“What dream are you trapped in, that you won’t wake up?”
Even after arriving at the villa, Nabin remained unconscious for a long time. Though his complexion had improved, his eyes stayed firmly shut. Jigang lingered by his side without rest.
Clutching the pendant as if it were his only lifeline, Nabin’s face shifted endlessly in his sleep. Sometimes he wept, sometimes terror contorted his features. On rare occasions, he even looked shy—so sweet it could make the watcher’s heart stir.
Watching Nabin’s sleeping face, Jigang lost all sense of time, forgetting both sunrise and sunset. Anxiety gnawed at him with every hour Nabin failed to wake, but there was also a dangerous comfort in these stolen days—just the two of them together, cut off from the world.
—…Guide, where are you? Where the hell are you?
When Gong Min learned what had happened at the mansion, he tried to reach Jigang to come to the villa.
“Somin’s alone there. Tae Yishin’s locked up now, right? At least you should stay at the mansion. I’ll take care of Kim Nabin myself.”
For using his ability on Nabin, Tae Yishin had been imprisoned in the Esper-only jail. With Jigang also gone, the vast mansion held only Ryu Somin. After a pause, Gong Min hung up without another word. He couldn’t leave Somin, still in pain, to suffer alone.
“Mm…”
“You awake?”
Nabin finally stirred two days after arriving at the villa. Jigang held him close, smoothing the furrows from his brow and rubbing his frail body with a steady hand.
He wanted to feed him, to tuck him back into sleep safely. But Nabin did nothing but slumber, as if possessed by a sleep demon. Jigang even skipped his own meals, waiting desperately for the moment those clear eyes would open.
And when they finally did—when Jigang met Nabin’s pale gaze again after days—it filled him with emotions too vast to name.
Though weaker than before, those eyes weren’t empty. Slowly, they traced Jigang’s features, as if trying to confirm who held him so carefully.
“Esper…Han… Jigang-nim….”
“Yeah, it’s me. Do you recognize me?”
“Yes…”
“…Thank god.”
Jigang had believed the Artifact could mend Nabin’s mind, but the fear lingered: what if he woke with hollow eyes, no will left at all? Relief washed over him as he brushed the cold sweat from Nabin’s white forehead.
Thanks to Jigang, the villa’s seclusion lessened the worst of Tae Yishin’s damage. But sometimes, whispers still crept into Nabin’s ears.
“…You’re nothing but trash.”
Sometimes it was Tae Yishin’s voice. Sometimes it twisted into Jigang’s or Gong Min’s, though they now tried so hard to care for him. Sometimes it was Ryu Somin, once thought kind, until Nabin learned otherwise. Sometimes it was Kim Su-hyun, whom he would never see again.
At times, it was Kim Minsu, sending him scrambling in panic, convinced the man himself had returned.
But the worst was the faint, almost forgotten voice of his father. When that whisper came, fear vanished. Though his eyes were open and his lungs still drew breath, Nabin felt erased from the world—stripped of existence itself.
When the hallucinations spoke, he truly believed he wasn’t human.
People don’t pity a trash can when they throw garbage into it. A trash can exists only to hold refuse; people toss their filth inside without a second thought.
So it was with Nabin. Maybe he had been born wrong, a mistake of fate. Maybe he should never have been born human at all—just a receptacle forced to endure everything in silence, wrapped in the borrowed skin of a man.
When that conviction took hold—that he was nothing but a trash can—he would go still, frozen in place, sitting blank-eyed as time bled away.
His eyelids blinked out of reflex, his chest rose and fell, but that was all. Only when Jigang was present, speaking to him, urging him to move, did faint life return. Left alone in the villa while Jigang went on missions, he became like a broken doll, letting time devour him.
“Kim Nabin, why didn’t you eat this?”
Every time Jigang came home to find him like that, pain clenched his chest. No matter how carefully he prepared meals, no matter how much he begged Nabin to eat while he was gone, he would return to see him sitting on the sofa in the exact same position as when he left. It drove him nearly mad.
